Inside City Hall, columns of Stone-Skinned Soft Vine wrapped around gray limestone supported the dome.
Winter sunlight streamed through the broad skylight, casting tracks of light across the floor, countless motes of dust drifting within them.
The atmosphere was solemn yet fervent.
The royal messenger stood in the center of the hall, his ringing voice echoing through the space.
"...By this decree, His Lordship Weilin Klein, pioneering Baron of the Gray Marsh Fief, is granted Development Rights over the Southern Archipelago!"
"May he defend the Duchy's maritime borders and proclaim our nation's might!"
The final syllable fell.
A brief silence settled over the hall, then cheers erupted like a mountain torrent.
"Raaah!"
Barrett pumped his iron-vise fists, his roar drowning out everyone else.
Ora Stonebeard's face flushed red. He did not cheer, but twisted his carefully braided reddish-brown beard between thick fingers before breaking into a deep, booming laugh.
From the muddy, foul-smelling Gray Swamp to the magnificent seaport that had risen before their eyes.
This was a moment that belonged to the victors.
This was undeniable glory that belonged to them all!
Tristan stood behind Veylin, his gaze fixed on the parchment scroll in the messenger's hands.
The royal wax seal. The Council President's handwritten signature.
This was not a sheet of paper. It was the cornerstone of the Gray Marsh Fief's future development. If Veylin fully consolidated the Southern Archipelago, he could earn investiture as a Count.
The messenger let out a long breath, sincere respect on his face as he carefully presented it to Veylin.
But at that moment, a gentle voice spoke.
"Please wait."
A hand clad in a pristine white silk glove reached out from the side and lightly pressed down on the parchment scroll.
The surging cheers abruptly died, as though a hand had